The Ending
by Eurothrashed
Summary: He touches her cheek, returning the touch, deciding that maybe, just this once, that the ending doesn't matter. SPAWN COMPLETE


Title: The Ending  
Author: Eurothrashed  
Feedback: Yes, please. E-mail address in bio.  
Disclaimer: I lay claim to nothing.  
Rating: Pg13  
Summary: He touches her cheek, returning the touch, deciding that maybe, just this once, that the ending doesn't matter...  
A/N Very late, but very Merry Christmas to Enn-Enn. The cuddles wouldn't behave, so I had to settle for gentle touches and a kiss.  
Spoilers: Buffyverse up to _'Lessons'_...

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Blood and sin soak in; like a dye, staining. Can't scrub it out. He tries though; till his skin peels, and the soap burns. The girl comes 'round, stomping on his heart, bruising what pride he has left, an' spitting on his attempts at atonement.

She doesn't want him.

He's accepted it.

So what does he do? He falls in love of course. He gives his heart to the only other person who ever gave a shit. That's his weakness after all; he falls in love with girls who give him even a measly scrap of something.

She cared for him once, and that's all it takes to for him to sign himself over.

He's hers now, 'cause she cared once. Once upon a time - like a fairy tale, a vague plot-line and then there's an equally shady chance at happiness. Very shady, granted; but s'enough to make him think in vain of long forgotten poetry and dreams of courtship.

They put the spark back in and they made him glow; not as bright as her, but he does glow. He hopes that's it's enough. He thinks about her, lying in the quiet and darkness as he holds himself. He spills useless buckets of salt and he curses himself for calling her name, weeping it.

The other, she came; no harsh words, no curses that cut into him like a knife. Oh no, she was civil. She asked if he wanted anything. One thing, whatever it was, she'd bring it to him. He asked. Shouldn't have. Know that now. But he asked. She smiled and said she could do it.

Was a mistake, but he didn't know it then. So, he tidied up, got rid of the rats, and cleaned up his person. The smell of bleach in his hair is faint now, but it still stings in his nose; and as he pushes up his sleeves, he tries to ignore how his new shirt itches.

He finds her bruised and laying on what counts as his bed.

He touches her, scared that she's not real, and she's... hot.

He can feel a fire, intense and blistering under the shy touch of his fingertips. He wants to keep touching, but that wouldn't be proper. It'd be too bold of him. So he sits. He watches her sleep, silently counting each breath as is drifts out from her chest.

He thinks about how different they both are now: how she's grown, and how he's lost touch with reality.

As she sleeps, he sits and thinks.

And thinks.

The Other, from beneath - _her_ - she comes back. She tells him something he hadn't thought of - a price. She brought him something; so, he has to give her something or she takes her present back. Panic seizes him, so he agrees to her terms.

Agrees and forgets about the spark.

At first she only wants to talk, but the talking soon turns into actions.

He drinks it down, taking his medicine like a good boy.

Dizzy and disgusted, he drops the chattery little blonde. He hardly hears it when her head hits the brightly lit tile outside her locker. He tries to forget the way it feels to have life running through him as he stumbles back down to his patch of darkness. The Other and the spark fight inside him; but she wins, she always wins - allowing him to forget his payments made in blood.

He opens his eyes, and there's the girl, awake, staring at him, rubbing the back of her head. She asks meaningless questions, but he tries to answer anyway, trying to clear his head to think.

She stares at him, all cute and confused - so he kisses her.

She jerks back, hand covering her mouth like he burned her, like she burned his fingertips. He remembers the spark and he wonders if the glow that's inside him burned her like it constantly burns him. So he apologizes and shrinks back, not wanting to burn her again.

She's still staring at him. She stands; ready to go. Sooner than he expected - but he expected it. They always leave. But she just walks closer, sitting down next to him, still staring. He laughs a little, trying to force the verses out; but his poetry comes out choppy, and he can't remember the end.

She smiles faintly, touching his cheek in brief tenderness; something that he hasn't received in years.

He touches her cheek, returning the touch; deciding that maybe, just this once, the ending doesn't matter.

END


End file.
